


These Chains Don't Define Me

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint was a hunter, Dean is sort of a jerk, F/M, I Tried, Tortured Lydia Martin, Tortured Stiles Stilinski, What Was I Thinking?, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 20:56:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6723070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Lydia are kidnapped by a man who sells humans to hunters as slaves. Dean has hit a new low. Clint's left the past behind him. A string of unfortunate events brings them all together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, guys! I'm not quite sure where this is going to go, but I hope you stick with it and stay open to whatever!

     “Damn it, Cas!” Dean interrupted the silence that had settled in the stuffy air of the impala. The windows were rolled down, but that did little to fight the stifling heat of California. Cas, who had been frowning at Dean ever since they’d entered the car, didn’t even flinch at the outburst. “If you have something to say, say it!”  
     

     “Dean-”  
    

     “Actually,” Dean cut in. “Don’t say it.” Cas continued to frown at him. Dean refused to meet his eyes, staring out at the road ahead of them. They swerved onto the dirt road leading further into the trees until they reached a hidden cabin. Dean parked the impala and shut off the engine, but he remained in the driver’s seat and stared at the cabin door.  
    

     “Are you going to go in?” Cas spoke in a gruff tone. Dean glared at him, and he shrugged. “If not, we can go back to the bunker. I’ve been looking into a few jobs. I think it would be good for you-”  
    

     “I’m fine!” Dean slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Cas raised a brow. With a sigh, Dean opened his door and stepped out, slamming it shut. Leaning down, he addressed Cas, who was opening his own door, through the open window. “Stay here.” Cas paused, his door halfway open, and faced Dean.  
    

     “Dean-”  
    

     “Stay in the car, Cas!” Dean commanded, and he marched towards the cabin door. Knocking angrily, he glanced back at the impala over his shoulder. The door creaked open, drawing his eyes away from Cas’ penetrating gaze.  
    

     “Dean?” The man in the doorway was hunched over with age, but the sight of the younger man on his porch made his eyes light up in a way they hadn’t since his younger years. “Dean Winchester? Surprise seein’ you here! I ain’t seen you since that vampire case you was workin’ with your dad some years ago. Pity he’s moved on. He was a fine hunter.”  
    

     “Yeah, he was.” Dean nodded. “It’s good to see you, Ricky, but I’m actually here to talk with Charlie. He’s still around, isn’t he?”  
    

     “You best be believin’ it.” Ricky moved aside and motioned for Dean to step in. “The boy’s everywhere these days. Huntin’ is one thing, but keepin’ them hunters happy is another.” Ricky grinned.  
    

     “I don’t doubt it.” Dean replied, observing the house’s interior. It was homey and warm, but Dean knew better than to believe in appearances.  
    

     “Anyway,” Ricky shook his head and gripped Dean’s shoulder firmly. “I’m assumin’ you’re here to do business with the kid. He’s in the gray shed in the back.”  
    

     “Thanks, Ricky.” Dean nodded in appreciation, left the living room, passed through the kitchen and into the open yard. He glanced around from the porch.  
    

     The backyard possessed none of the hominess that the cabin had. Car engines and more were strewn across the dead grass. To the left there was a shed with peeling red paint and, to the right, a grey one much bigger than the red. Dean jogged down the steps and crossed the yard. He paused outside the grey shed door. Pained groaning, heavy breathing, and stifled sobs from inside reached his ears. He shivered and, squaring his shoulders, knocked gently. “Charlie?” Heavy footsteps drowned out the fainter noises, and the door flew open. A grinning ginger stood in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dark rag. Dean locked his eyes onto Charlie’s, uncomfortable.  
    

     “Still a little squeamish, eh?” Charlie smirked. “That’s alright, Dean-o! You’ll get used to it.” His brows furrowed unexpectedly, and he fixed Dean with a quizzical gaze. “Unless, of course, you’re here for something else?”  
    

     “Nope.” Dean shook his head.  
    

     “Great!” Charlie clapped his shoulder. “Glad to see you’ve moved beyond your righteousness, my friend! Hopefully we’ll be able to put the past behind us.”  
    

     “Already have.” Dean shrugged.  
    

     “Good to know.” Charlie nodded, noting Dean’s hard tone. “Now, what do you have in mind?”  
    

     Dean shrugged. He had no idea were to begin. “I need someone who can look after the…” Dean caught himself. “My place while I’m out.”  
    

     Charlie chuckled. “I aim to please, sir. I’ll help you find exactly what you’re looking for.” Charlie started to lead Dean in, but stopped abruptly. “You’re new to this whole thing, so I hope you’ll excuse the mess.”  
    

     “No problem.” Dean shrugged.  
    

     “Let’s get going.” Charlie threw the door open, ushered Dean inside, and shut it. Dean froze, shoulders tense. On either side of him, young faces stared at him fearfully through hazy eyes. Their bodies were covered in dust and the crimson stains of dried blood, and their hands were chained above their heads. They shied away from the two men. Dean started, just becoming aware of Charlie standing beside him. The ginger’s sadistic sneer made Dean’s skin crawl. He turned away, but the abused bodies surrounding him were no more comforting to gaze upon. Charlie laid a hand on Dean’s back, noticing the way it twitched at his touch.  
    

     “Tell me, which would fit your needs; male or female?” Charlie inquired.  
    

     Still taking in his surroundings, Dean shrugged. “Either.”  
    

     “Younger?”  
    

     “Old enough to know how to keep things clean.”  
    

     Charlie snickered. “Point taken. How about appearance?”  
    

     Dean gave another shrug. “No preference.”  
    

     “Dean,” Charlie shook his head. “You are making this slightly difficult.”  
    

     “Well, I am new to this whole slave trading process.” Dean stated with exaggeration.  
    

     “How broken in?” Charlie continued. “I know some people like to train their own.”  
    

     “Sounds fun. What new ones have you got?”  
    

     “Ha!” Charlie exclaimed sarcastically. “I was actually working on one in the back just before you got here. Want to take a look? You can help out, if you’re interested.”  
    

     “Let’s check him out.”  
    

     “That’s my man!” Charlie led Dean to an adjoining room. In the center of the room, two chains hung from the rafters and, at each end, clamped around a bruised wrist. The pale boy hanging there, legs collapsed beneath him, was supported only by his straining arms. As the two men entered the room, the boy, breath hitching, clasped the chains connected to his wrist in a determined grip and pulled himself to his feet. He stood before them, shaking on his unsteady feet. Raising his head, Dean noticed the gag. He frowned. The boy glared at them, and Dean glimpsed the fear hidden behind the anger. Charlie moved towards the boy, drawing Dean out of his haze. He watched as Charlie circled the boy with a malicious sneer. He dragged his fingertips lightly along the boy’s bare, bruised torso. The boy shuddered at Charlie’s touch. Charlie pulled away, disappearing behind the boy. Dean hesitantly moved to follow him, eyes still examining the boy.  
    

     “Do you smoke?” Dean’s gaze moved passed the boy to Charlie, who had grabbed a box of cigarettes from a table.  
    

     “I’ll pass, thanks.” Dean replied, watching as Charlie shrugged, drew one cigarette out of the box, and lit it. With it hanging from the side of his mouth, Charlie turned back to Dean.  
    

     “Everything you need is on this table right here.” He patted the table next to him. “I’ll stay here for a few minutes, if that’s fine with you, and then, if you get the hang of things, I’ve got other things to attend to.”  
    

     “Whatever you say, Charlie.” Dean shrugged, moving towards the table. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a table with such a chilling assortment of items. He surveyed them, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.  
     

     “It’s overwhelming, huh?” Charlie had moved to his side. Dean nodded. Charlie tapped a cattle prod. “This one was fun, but, my personal favorite…” He tapped the blood-crusted whip. Dean turned to examine the boy’s back and, shuddering, spun away quickly. Charlie smirked satisfactorily. “Pretty, huh?”  
     I

     Ignoring the comment, Dean grabbed the cattle prod. He wasn’t new to torture, but this? This was something different. Maybe Cas was right; it was wrong and he should stay out of it, but, to hell with Cas, he needed to burn off a little steam. He powered the prod up, and, whirling around with a blinding fury, he pressed it into the boy’s back. The boy writhed, the gag stifling his scream. Dean shut off the cattle prod and tossed it carelessly back onto the table. The boy’s skin twitched. Dean circled him, coming face-to-face with him. Tears streaked his bruised face and his nose leaked a mixture of blood and snot, but he glared into Dean’s eyes with a determined fire.  
    

     “I’ll take him.” Dean announced.  
    

     "That was quick." Charlie muttered. "Are you sure? Don't want you making any rash-"

     "I'll take him." Dean repeated.

     "Alrighty." Charlie shurgged. "Let's talk business then."


	2. Bandages and Late Night Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry it has taken so long to update this. School is killing me with all the end of the year projects and finals. I promise updates will become more consistent. Thanks!

Cas frowned, shifting in his seat for the thousandth time while staring fixedly at the door. He’d contemplated marching inside and dragging Dean back to the bunker, but he remained in the car. It seemed like hours, maybe it was, before the cabin door reopened, and Dean stepped out onto the front porch followed by the old man who greeted him there previously. The man was chattering in Dean’s ear unceasingly, but Dean seemed unfocused on what the man had to say. Dean shook the man’s hand and, as the man disappeared into the cabin, Dean jogged down the steps. The overwhelming sense of relief that had washed over Cas was shattered as Dean headed towards the side of the house where a furious redhead yanked a young boy by the hair. The boy stumbled but, recovering his balance, struggled frantically against the redhead’s grip. The two approached Dean, and, after exchanging a quick word, they started towards the impala.

 

     Opening his door calmly, Cas stepped out. He glared at Dean disapprovingly. Dean did a double take. “Cas, get back in the car!”

 

     “Dean, please.” Cas pleaded.

 

     “Get back in the car right now!” Dean growled. Cas, glancing at the smirking redhead, settled back into his seat and slammed the door for emphasis. He watched, glowering, as Dean and the redhead hauled the boy to the impala door. The boy continued to struggle. Cas heard his distressed sobs through the open window. The sounds were muffled; the boy was gagged. Dean threw the door open and, turning back around, struck the boy with a closed fist. The boy collapsed to the ground, and Dean and the redhead shoved him into the backseat as Cas sat motionless in the passenger seat. With the boy, successfully stuffed into the back, Dean shook the redhead’s hand and sank into the driver seat. Without so much as a glance towards Cas, Dean started up the engine and pulled away from the cabin.

 

     A sense of déjà vu settled in the car. Dean, eyes locked on the road, could feel piercing blue eyes locked on him. The only difference from the ride there was that there was now a beaten boy unconscious in the backseat. With a sigh, Dean floored the gas. The sooner they arrived at the motel the better.

     It was late when they pulled into the motel lot. The sun was long gone. The boy had, surprisingly, been still for the entire trip. Shutting off the engine, Dean turned to Cas for the first time since they left the cabin. “Stay here. I’ll get us a room, and we’ll try to get the kid in there without drawing any attention to him.” Cas grunted. Dean slammed the impala door behind him and disappeared into the main building. He came back a few minutes later, climbed in behind the wheel, moved them to a spot in front of their room, and handed Cas the room key. "Head on in, and I'll follow with the boy."

 

     "Fine." Cas grumbled. Dean furrowed his brows in surprise as Cas stepped out of the car and enter the motel room, leaving the door wide open for Dean.

 

     There were two beds, and, seeing how Cas had already claimed one, Dean gently placed the boy, face down, on the opposite one. He retrieved several bags from the car and set them on the floor beside the boy. Rubbing his forehead, he shut the motel room door and started rummaging through one of the bags.

    

     "I'll take care of him.” Dean started at Cas’ voice.

    

     “Cas, I-”

    

     “Why don’t you take a shower?” Something in his voice made Dean believe it wasn’t a suggestion. Dean sighed in defeat.

    

     “Okay. I’ll try and save some of the hot water.” He grabbed on of the bags from the floor and withdrew to the bathroom. When the door clicked shut, Cas moved to the bags and, seating himself next to the boy, began to tend to his wounds. As Cas began to clean the whip stripes on his back, the boy stirred. He came to with a jolt, eyes wide open. He squirmed, straining his still bound wrists. Cas gripped his shoulder gently but firm.

 

     “Don’t move. You’ll reopen your wounds.” The boy stilled, but his hands shook nervously, his body shuddered with each breath, and he locked his eyes on Cas watchfully. Cas continued to wipe the boy’s back. The boy winced. “I know.” Cas stated. “It stings, but it will prevent infections and help you heal faster.” The boy made no motion to imply that he was listening, but Cas continued on regardless. “A few years ago, I would have been able to do this with a touch.” He sighed. “A lot of things can change in a year.” The boy attempted to reply; voice stifled by the gag. Cas glanced up at his face to find a new wave of tears flooding from his pleading eyes. He sighed again. “If I take that off, will you keep your head on straight?” The boy nodded. With the hundredth sigh of the night, Cas reached over and undid the gag. Before it had even fully left his mouth, the boy was speaking with a voice hoarse from a throat mutilated by hours of screaming.

 

     “Lydia.” He croaked. “They have Lydia.”

 

     “Who?” Cas questioned with a calm concern in his voice.

 

     “Lydia.” The boy repeated. He choked, his eyes growing teary. “Please, we have to get her out of there.”

 

     “Where?” Cas laid a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Back at the cabin?” The boy nodded.

 

     Both men spun as the bathroom door opened, and Dean’s voice floated through the gap. “How’s it going, Cas?”

 

     Cas glanced at the boy, who had frozen, pale and wide-eyed. “We’re fine, Dean. Just get in the shower.”

 

     “Just give a shout if you need anything.” The bathroom door shut. The boy’s eyes remained on the dark wood.

 

     “You’re okay.” Cas drew the boy’s attention back to him. “He isn’t going to hurt you.” The boy laughed mirthlessly, eyeing the floor. Cas placed a gentle hand beneath the boy’s chin and raised his head. “I won’t let him.” The boy nodded but made no reply. “What’s your name?” Cas asked, returning his attention to the boy’s wounds.

 

     “Stiles.” The boy replied in a weak voice.

 

     “That’s an odd name.” Cas remarked. Stiles just shrugged. “How did you end up at the cabin, Stiles?”

 

     “I-” Stiles hesitated, but a reassuring glance from Cas prompted him to continue. “We… They…” He continued to stutter.

 

     “Whatever you say,” Cas interrupted gently. “I’ll believe you.”

 

     “They were there for Scott.” Stiles turned his face away, but Cas could hear him tearing up. “Lydia and I were just… there. They… They killed him.” There was a long pause as he fought back a sob. He took shaky breaths, and Cas noticed the way his hands trembled. He started again in a whisper. “They killed him and grabbed us. They knocked us out, but I woke up in the van. I was awake when they dragged us from the van into the… into the shed. They separated us. Please, please, I have to go back for her.” He faced Cas once more with tears spilling from his eyes.

 

     Cas frowned, contemplating. “I’ll have to convince Dean.”

 

     “Will he help?” Cas detected the bitterness in the boy’s voice.

 

     “I’m sorry for whatever he’s done to you. He wasn’t always like this. He’s lost someone close to him. He’ll help, if we can convince him to.”

 

     “Even if he does help, I’ll kill him if he so much as lays a finger on Lydia.”

 

     Cas snorted, but ignored the comment. Applying the final bandage, he started replacing everything into the bag. “How does that feel?”

 

     “Better.” Stiles replied. They were hardly aware of the water shutting off.


	3. Bloodspill on the Forest Floor

     _“Sam, have you got eyes on him?” Dean demanded through the phone. Sunlight weaved through the leaves over head, dancing on the forest floor in patterns of light._

_“I’ve lost him, Dean.” Dean heard his brother’s solemn voice through the speaker. Dean quickened his pace, the branches of the trees catching on his coat as if they too desired to hinder him._

_“Cas!” He called._

_“Dean?” He heard a distant call of his name. Freezing, he glanced around. “Dean?” It came from the phone still clasp in his hand. He raised it to his ear._

_“Sammy?”_

_“I found him, Dean. He’s with Nathaniel.” Sam’s voice was low._

_“Don’t do anything stupid, Sammy. Let them hash it out. Don’t you dare intervene until I get there. Understand?”_

_“I’ve got to go, Dean.” Dean heard the beep as Sam hung up._

_“Sam!” He called. He spun, looking for any hint as to which direction to head in. His heart pounded, eyes searching wildly. “Sammy!”_

_“Sam, no!” Dean heard Cas cry. In an instant, he was sprinting in the direction of the voice._

_“Sammy!” He skidded to a stop in a small clearing in the trees. Cas lay on the ground, struggling to get to his feet. A few feet away, Sam was on the ground, straddled by Nathaniel, an angel blade buried in his chest. “No!” Dean lunged for the angel pinning his brother down, but Nathaniel was already gone. Dean landed heavily on his knees beside Sam. He propped him up, pulling the younger Winchester against his chest._

_“C’mon, Sammy. Stay with me.”_

_“Cas?” Sam coughed, blood seeping down his lips._

_“He’s fine. He’s fine.” Dean answered._ He’s Cas, _he thought to himself_. Of course he’s fine. _Dean glanced over at the angel who had crawled closer. He had a cut along his jaw. Dean watched it with furrowed brows, but it failed to heal. “Cas?” His voice, a mix of panic, frustration, and confusion, shook. The angel refused to meet his eyes. “Cas, what’s going on? Heal him!”_

_“I can’t.” Cas muttered. “Nathaniel took my grace.”_

_“What?” Dean shook his head. Tear started to build up in his eyes. “No, no. Heal him, damn it!”_

_“I’m sorry, Dean.”_

_“It’s okay.” Sam laid a bloody hand on Dean’s cheek. “It’s okay.”_

_“You’re going to be fine, Sammy.” Dean gripped his brother tighter. “You’ve got to stay with me, okay? Hang on I’m gonna get you to a hospital.”_

_“No, Dean.” Sam shook his head. “Don’t look for me, okay? Don’t look for me.” Even then, Sam glared at Dean with a stern gaze. Dean shook his head. “Promise me, Dean. Promise me you won’t look.”_

_“I can’t do that, Sam.”_

_“Cas,” Sam struggled to turn his gaze towards the angel. Cas looked up and met Sam’s eyes. “You’ll take care of him, right?”_

_“Yes, Sam.” Cas replied. Sam nodded, comforted, and turned back to Dean._

_“Like you said, Dean,” Sam smiled, bitter sweetly. Dean shook his head, throat too constricted to speak. “‘I’m proud of us.’” Sam’s eyes became unfocused. Dean shifted Sam in his arms, his tears dropping onto Sam’s pale face._

_“No. No. C’mon, Sammy! C’mon!” He buried his face in Sam’s chest. “Sam?”_

Dean inhaled abruptly, eyes shooting open. Throwing the covers off his legs, he sat up. He rubbed his eyes then ran his hands through his hair. Pushing himself off the mattress, he headed towards the bathroom only to realize that light was seeping through the cracked door. He stepped closer with furrowed brows. It wasn’t until he heard the breathing that he remembered handcuffing the boy to the vent on the bathroom floor. He sighed, raising his hand to push the door open, but he froze. The breathing was rapid; dangerously rapid.

 

     “You okay, kid?” He whispered gently as to not wake Cas. He slipped into the bathroom to find the boy in the center of the small room, straining at the handcuffs. His eyes widen at the site of Dean, and he pulled harder, blood oozing through broken skin. His chest rose and fell unnervingly with each rapid breath. Dean dropped to his knees, but the boy shied away. “Hey, hey, you’re okay. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?” Dean coaxed, raising his empty hands for the boy to see. “Just calm down. You’re okay. Here match your breathing to mine, okay?” The boy nodded frantically. “One…” Dean inhaled. “Two…” He exhaled. The boy’s breathing was steadying. When he’d calmed, he relaxed enough to lessen the tension of the handcuffs, but he remained as far from Dean as his restraints allowed. His breathing was normal, but he trembled as he watched Dean warily with teary eyes. He swallowed nervously

 

     “Panic attack.” He murmured. Dean nodded.

 

    “Stiles, right?” The boy nodded, confusion in his eyes. “Look, I…” Dean sighed. He was almost as bad at apologies as he was with grief. Almost. “How are you feeling?”

 

     “Um,” Stiles shifted. Dean wasn’t sure whether the boy’s discomfort came from the wounds or the conversation. “I’m… I’m fine.”

 

     “Do you need anything?”

 

     “Just promise me you’ll get Lydia.” The boy muttered as if he were afraid to speak. Dean sighed, shifting to lean comfortably against the wall. The boy eyed him distrustfully.

 

     “I told you, kid, we’re going to do everything we can to help her, okay?” The boy frowned, hesitating, and then nodded. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.” Dean rose and, leaving the bathroom, returned to his bed. Lying on his back, he stared at the ceiling. From inside the bathroom, Stiles could have sworn he heard a sniffle.

 

 

 

     “Back already, Dean-o?” Charlie greeted Dean at the cabin the next day with a grin. “Questions, concerns?” Shaking his hand, Charlie pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t tell me you’re here to return!”

 

     Dean shook his head with a chuckle. “No, I’m not here to return. In fact, I’m here to make another purchase.”

 

     “Whoa, Dean-o!” Charlie hollered. “Don’t you think you’re going a little too fast? I mean, I love the business, but I don’t want you, some one who’s new to the trade, to overwhelm yourself.”

 

     “Yeah, well, my… boy said something about a girl he was with. I was just thinking-”

 

     “Oh, damn.” Charlie frowned. “I’m sorry Dean-o. She went quickly.”

 

     “To who?” Dean demanded.

 

     “Nick Vans.” Charlie replied, pleasantly.

 

     Dean’s shoulders sagged. “Son of a bitch.”

 

 

 

     “We’ve got to get her back somehow!” Stiles exclaimed when Dean had arrived back at the hotel and delivered the bad news. He continued to babble, but Cas, noticing Dean’s distant eyes, interrupted.

 

     “There’s more.” Stiles stopped mid-sentence, staring at Dean. Cas fixed Dean with a questioning gaze. “What aren’t you telling us?”

 

     Dean ignored the question. “Cas, can I speak to you outside?” Cas nodded and rose from the bed. Stiles, sitting cross-legged on the other bed, looked between the two men with alarm.

 

   “What? What’s wrong?” He began to rise too.

 

     “You stay here.” Dean commanded, pointing a threatening finger at him.

 

     Stiles shook his head. “You have to tell me.”

 

     “Stay in here!” Dean roared. Stiles clenched his jaw and sank back onto the bed. Cas followed Dean outside.

 

     “What is it, Dean?”

 

     “I know this guy, Cas. He’s a big deal in the hunter world.” Dean glanced around them cautiously.

 

     “So, he’s a famous hunter? I’ve never heard of him.”

 

     “He’s not a hunter, but he runs a bar in Arizona.”

 

     “And?” Cas prompted Dean to continue.

 

     “In the back of the bar, there is another… _pass-time_ he offers to hunters exclusively.”

 

     Cas sighed. “What can we do to help her?”

 

     “Well, Nick and I don’t get along very much, but I know a guy who might be able to help if we convince him.”

 

     “Who?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so most of this chapter was pretty much just there to reveal what happened to Sam. I wasn't real happy with it, but I hope you enjoyed it. To all you Avengers Fans waiting for Clint: Don't worry. I'm working on the next chapter right now!


	4. The Past Comes Back To Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys! I am so, so sorry about the delay! I've been busy, and I have a busy week ahead, but I promise there will be a second chapter this week! I've got to go, but, once again, I apologize from the bottom of my heart!

Clint had to admit he liked Avengers Tower. Especially mornings with Thor back in Asgard, Bruce and Tony in the lab, Rhodey gone to do whatever he does that makes him feel important, Sam and Steve out for a run, and Nat… somewhere. He didn’t not like his team (well, maybe Tony for turning off the warm water in his shower). He just liked it when they were all quiet and calm, and, since that never happened when they were all together, he liked it when he was alone.

 

     What with S.H.I.E.L.D. gone, he was out of a job and, frankly, out of things to do. With his family still a secret and all, he decided it was for the best to settle into the Tower before taking a vacation. So he spent most days, wandering the countless floors of the Tower or strolling around New York City for no damn reason. Just like most days, he’d woken up at 12:30 p.m. and stumbled to the kitchen in his purple boxers and a white tee shirt. Pouring himself a steaming mug of coffee (thank God there was actually some in the pot!), he leaned against the counter and sipped the soothing liquid energy.

 

     “Up so early!” Sam Wilson shouted with mock surprise as he and Steve entered the kitchen. Clint just glared at him over the edge of his mug. Grinning, Steve retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with cold water. He slide one across the counter to Sam and took a drink of his own.

 

     “Any plans for today, Clint?” Steve asked politely. Sam snorted, and Clint shot him a threatening glare before turning back to the captain.

 

     “Probably spend two or three hours down at the range or in the training room. Might go on a walk.” Clint shrugged, passively. Sam laughed, almost choking on his water.

 

     “Well, if you need a training partner, all you’ve got to do is ask.” Steve offered.

 

     “Thanks, old man, but I’ll just shoot for now.” Clint left the two and went back to his room to change. He slipped into a pair of jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and his boots before grabbing his quiver and bow and heading to the stairs. Sure, it’s Avengers Tower. There’s a boatload of stairs, but Clint hates the elevator. It isn’t a normal ‘step in, press a button, wait a second, and step out’ elevator. It was more of a ‘step in, look for the buttons that are supposed to be there, let Jarvis scare the crap out of you by asking for the floor number you’d like to go to, make a fool of yourself by talking to the bodiless voice, wait a second, then get the hell off’ kind of elevator. Clint had just resorted to taking the stairs.

 

     He wasn’t surprised to find Natasha already at work in the shooting range. After S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, they’d both been left jobless, and Natasha, having returned from her ‘self-discovery’ trip, enjoyed the free time about as much as Clint… and that wasn’t a lot.

 

     “Hey, Tasha!” He greeted. He’d learned the hard way that not announcing you’re entrance to whatever room she was presently in was an awful idea.

 

     “Clint.” She didn’t even take her eyes of the target. “You just get up?”

 

     “Not _just_.” Clint replied defensively.

 

     “The time it takes to drink a cup of coffee and get dressed doesn’t count.”

 

     “Okay, than yeah.” He shrugged, ambling closer to her. He leaned against the wall, watching as she pulled the trigger, hitting the target in the forehead. Switching on the safety, she placed the gun in its holster and removed the headphones.

 

     “I’m going to run to Wal-Mart.” Natasha brushed past him. “You boys do know that the fridge doesn’t restock itself, right?” Clint shook his head with a laugh and watched her leave the room.

 

     Two hours had passed before Clint headed back up the stair. “Hey, Jarvy!” Clint honestly did dislike talking to the AI. It just creeped him out for some stupid reason. It didn’t help that it made him feel like an idiot, but he wasn’t on strike against Jarvis. He was a neat… thing, after all.

 

     “What can I do for you, Mr. Barton?” Clint wouldn’t admit it, but the switch from ‘Agent Barton’ to ‘Mr. Barton’ still made him uncomfortable.

 

     “Is Natasha back yet?”

 

     “Ms. Romanoff arrived twenty-three minutes ago.” Jarvis replied.

 

     “Mind telling me were she is, Jarv?”

 

     “She is on the twenty-seventh floor watching Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets with Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson, and Dr. Banner.”

 

     “Thanks, Jarvis.” Clint quickened his pace.

 

     “You are welcome, Mr. Barton.”

 

     Steve, Sam, Natasha, and Bruce weren’t the only ones that Clint found on the twenty-seventh floor. An upset Tony had just arrived.

 

     “You ditched me, Banner!”

 

     “I know. I’m sorry.” Bruce blushed.

 

     “You said you were just getting water.”

 

     “I was, but I heard Harry Potter and figured I could take a quick break. I was planning on coming back.”

 

     Clint hurried back to the stairs before anyone noticed his presence and ambled back to his room. He showered, changed into sweatpants, and dropped onto his bed. He grabbed his phone from the bedside and stared at the screen. He considered calling Laura, but she knew that he was getting settled. He’d told her he was going to be there soon. He fell asleep with the phone in his hand.

 

     It was 11:47 when he woke up again. It was late and, hopefully, everyone else was asleep. With little else to do, he left his room, retrieved another cup of coffee, and headed for the TV room everyone else had gathered in a few hours before. When he noticed Steve still seated on the couch, Clint regretted his decision to leave his room shirtless. Regardless, he sat down. Steve eyed him curiously.

 

     “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure the amount of hours you sleep is unhealthy.” Steve remarked, eyes returning to the screen.

 

     “Yeah, well I could say the same about your lack of it.” Clint knew it was a bit of a low blow, but he also knew that the Captain could take it. Plus, it wasn’t untrue.

 

     Steve gave a bitter laugh and no reply. Clint made no comment about Steve’s love for Disney as they watched Finding Nemo in silence. It was Jarvis that finally interrupted them.

 

     “Mr. Barton, you have an incoming call.”

 

     “Thanks, Jarv.” Clint rose with a sigh and crossed to the nearest phone. He placed it to his ear. “Hello?”

 

     “Hey, Barton.” The solemn voice on the other end sounded strangely familiar. “It’s been awhile.”

 

     “Who is this?”

 

     “Ah, c’mon. Don’t do this to me, Clint. I’m not going to pretend I like you anymore now than I did then, but I need your help.”

 

     “Look, you’re going to have to tell me who you are, because you’re not really narrowing it down.”

 

     “It’s Dean.” There was a pause as he waited for the name to register in Clint’s mind.

 

     “Winchester.” Clint growled.

 

     “Glad we’re on the same page now.”

 

     “How the hell did you get this number?”

 

     “Clint, listen-”

 

     “And why the hell are you calling me at twelve o’clock?”

 

     “I-”

 

     “Why the hell are you calling me period?” Clint noticed Steve glancing at him with concern.

 

     “Just let me explain!” Dean shouted in a mixture of annoyance and desperation.

 

     Clint sighed. Dean wouldn’t be calling unless he really needed something. “Fine.”

 

     “Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I know it was wrong, and I shouldn’t have left you-” Clint snorted. “But just hear me out.”

 

     “Make it quick, Winchester.”

 

     Dean inhaled. “I bought a… kid from… Charlie.”

 

     “Not the Charlie that-” Clint stopped himself when he noticed Steve cringe at his raised voice. He lowered it, but it still remained angry and menacing. “Not the Charlie I’m thinking of.”

 

     “Yes, the Charlie you’re thinking of. Now, listen to everything I have to say before you reprimand me, okay?” Clint snapped his mouth shut, so Dean continued. “I bought a kid from Charlie and ended up having a few words with him. He said the Charlie and his goons got a hold of a friend of his, so I went back to see if I could, you know, get her too. Turns out Charlie had already sold her… to Nick Vans.”

 

     Clint paled, speechless. Steve rose from the couch. “Clint?”

 

     “I know that dealing with Nick is the last thing you want to do, and I bet that me being the one asking doesn’t make the situation any better, but I really need your help. I’ve been banned from Nick’s place, but he might let you in. You know? A full circle kind of thing. Barton? Clint?”

 

     Clint’s hand shook as he clutched the phone. It took a moment before words formed in his dry mouth. “You owe me big time, Winchester.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not real sure where this is going. I hope you stick around though! I'm still gonna add that second chapter this week!   
>  And did y'all hear about the new Cap comic series? I don't know 'bout you, but I'm pissed!


	5. Acquaintances and Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you all a chapter before the end of the week, so here it is! I have a pretty busy weekend, but I'll try to get something up next week. Thanks guys!

     They’d agreed to meet at a rundown Arizona motel a few miles from Nick’s bar. Clint had told the Avengers he was meeting up with an old acquaintance and that he would be taking the jet for a few days. Tony had complained, but Bruce had dragged him back to the lab with a grin towards Clint. Natasha had been skeptical, but, lucky for her, Clint had asked her to come along. She’d been silent the entire jet ride, and, after landing the jet in an empty space next to the motel, Clint turned to her.

 

     “Look, I know you’re already suspicious and all, but I… Just…” He stammered, searching for the right words.

 

     She shrugged passively. “If you have anything to tell me, you’ll tell me.” She undid her seatbelt, rose, and marched to the opening ramp.

 

 

   Dean leaned against the impala. He’d insisted that Stiles stay inside, and, when the kid began to argue, Cas had agreed to stay with him. Dean tensed when the jet came into sight and began to lower near the motel. He rose from his comfortable position. The engines shut off. He waited. The ramp began to lower. An unexpected redhead appeared at the top of the ramp, a hesitant Clint appeared behind her.

 

     Dean sighed internally. Not the angry chick. Clint wasn’t the only one he’d seen on the news of late. The redhead marched right up to him. She stood with spread legs and crossed arms, confident and menacing. “And you are?”

 

 

 

     Stiles sat on the bed with crossed legs and crossed arms. He stared at the door, angrily; as if the mere power of his gaze would open it. He could feel Cas eyeing him with concern.

 

     “Anyone ever tell you that you can be kinda stalker-ish? It’s slightly creepy.” Stiles broke the silence without altering his gaze from the door.

 

     “How are your wounds feeling?” Cas ignored the previous question.

 

     Stiles shrugged. “Fine.”

 

     “Since we aren’t doing much at the moment, would you mind if I checked them?”

 

     “I said I’m fine.” Stiles snapped. He turned away from the door to fix Cas with a glare as the latter rose from his chair. Cas lowered himself next to the boy despite the protests.

 

     “I just want to be sure they are healing properly.” Stiles shivered as Cas gently lifted the back of his shirt. He couldn’t help the rush of blood to his face when the motel door opened and Dean walked in followed by two others.

 

     “This isn’t what it looks like.” He stated playfully. Dean scowled, the woman raised a single brow, and the man just stepped around the first two and shuffled to the bedside.

 

     “So, you’re the unlucky kid?” He moved around the bed so he was standing behind Cas. “Mind if I?” He asked politely as he took Cas’ place on the bed and laid a gentle hand on Stiles’ back. Stiles shook his head, but he couldn’t help tensing at the man’s touch.

 

     “Dean says you can help us save Lydia.” Stiles started as the man observed his wounds.

 

     “I’m going to do what I can, kid.” He pressed at one of the marks left by the whip, causing Stiles to hiss. “Sorry. Old Charlie really did a number on you, huh?”

 

   Stiles pulled his shirt down, forcing the man to remove his hands. “Lydia is our main concern right now. What’s our next step?”

 

     “Simple,” Dean shrugged from where he leaned against the wall. “We send in Barton and you get the girl out. Unless you have a more detailed plan than that?”

 

     The man glared at Dean. “Natasha and I can take care of it.”

 

 

 

     “We’ve had bad plans before, Clint, but this one has got to be one of the worst.” Natasha reprimanded as they made their way down they empty streets of the Arizona town.

 

     “Maybe that’s because we don’t even have a plan. It’s called improv.”

 

     “We’ve done a lot of improv before, but this has got to be one of the worst situations for one. A girl’s life is in the balance, Clint.”

 

     “Thanks for that much needed reminder.” Clint grumbled.

 

     Natasha sighed. “Look, I don’t want to push. I said I wouldn’t, so I’m not going to, but this mission has made you pretty uptight. I just don’t want you to do anything stupid.” She hesitated before continuing. “You’re letting you’re emotions get to you.”

 

     “I know.” Clint sighed, defeated. “It’s just a lot to take in all at one time. Charlie, Nick, and Dean all at once? I mean, I never wanted to deal with any of them again, yet here I am. At least I don’t have to actually _see_ Charlie. So far, that’s the only good thing in this huge mess.”

 

     “Clint.” Natasha sternly brought Clint back to the present.

 

     “Sorry.”

 

     “So, what’s our play?”

 

     “Well,” Clint frowned. “You’re my very lucky girlfriend.”

 

     “Oh, I’m the lucky one?” Natasha teased. A smile pulled at her lips. This was the Clint she was used to.

 

 

 

     “Clint? Clint Barton?” Clint swallowed as he neared the man at the counter. He was a dark haired man with course stubble along his strong jaw line, and he chewed mercilessly at a toothpick as he lounged on the countertop. “Never thought I’d be seeing you again.”

 

     “Yeah, well I surprised myself, Marty, but life is full of surprises.” Clint leaned on the counter with a confident smile. “Any chance Nick is in?”

 

     “It’s your lucky day, Barton.” Marty playfully nudged Clint’s shoulder. He stuck his head through a door leading to the back and shouted. It was only moments before a clean cut brunette appeared behind the counter. His white tooth smile widened when he caught sight of Clint.

 

     “Well I’ll be damned. Clint Barton. Fancy seeing you here.” Nick held out a hand to Clint. Clint took it, giving it one firm shake.

 

     “Can’t say it’s good to see you again, Vans, but I could use some of your service right about now.” Clint grinned. Nick sighed, smile falling.

 

     “You know it doesn’t work that way.”

 

     “Ah come on, Nick. I know how it works, but can’t you make an exception?” Clint pleaded lightheartedly. “Look, I meet this girl who’s in to that sorta thing. I promised her a good time, and I knew this was the place to be. Can you just do me this one favor?”

 

     “Babe,” It was at this point that Natasha strode over to cling to Clint’s arm with a pout. “Where’s all the fun you promised?”

 

     “Just a second, hon.” Clint faced Nick once more. “One favor?”

 

     “Just let em’ in.” Marty interrupted. He leaned against the doorframe with a sneer. “The guy’s come back, for Pete’s sake! It’s a full circle kind of deal.”

 

     Clint paled. Natasha felt his arm tense. Her heart fell. She slid her hand into his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

 

     “Fine.” Nick agreed, unaware of Clint’s discomfort. “But just this once, Clint.”

 

     “Yes, sir.” Clint managed a cheery tone as the two followed Nick into the back.

 

     “So, what are you two looking for? We’ve got-”

 

     “You got any new ones?” Clint asked.

 

     “A few. You like the feisty, inexperienced, unpredictable ones?”

 

     “I like a little feisty; redhead kind of feisty, if you know what I mean.” Natasha chimed in.

 

     “I’ve go the perfect one for you two.” Nick laughed. “She’s a beauty, but she’s a fighter. Don’t be too careful with her.”

 

     “Oh, believe me, we won’t.” Natasha smirked.

 

     Nick led them further down the hallway before stopping at a door and opening it part way. “Everything you might need is in there. Enjoy your time and, if you need anything, some one will be available at the counter.”

 

     “Thanks, Nick.” Clint shouted after the man.

 

     “Don’t mention it, Clint.” He shouted in reply as he disappeared around a corner.

 

     Clint looked at Natasha with sad eyes. She smiled at him reassuringly and, still clutching his hand, led him into the room. Clint shut the door behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't one of my best, but thanks for sticking with it! I'll get the next one up soon!


	6. Sparks of Hope Don't Last Long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait guys! I know I said things would clear up after I finished school, but I guess I didn't realize there were busy weeks ahead of me. Thanks for sticking around though! This chapter is just a little bit shorter, but I hope you enjoy! Thanks again!

Clint turned away the moment they stepped through the door, staring at a blank space on the wall. Wrists and ankles strapped to the bed, a young girl lay gagged and naked on the mattress. Muffled cries fought past the gag as tears rolled from her eyes. She squirmed, fingers curling as she strained against the straps. Multiple objects that Clint preferred not to look at or think about hung on the wall to the left of the bed. Natasha’s hand slid from his as she moved closer to the girl.

“Lydia?” Natasha took a cautious step forward. The girl stared at her with fearful eyes. Her bare chest rose and fell rapidly. “It’s okay.” Natasha took another step. “We’re not here to hurt you. We’re here to help you. We’re here to take you back to Stiles.”

Something in the girl’s eyes changed at the boy’s name. Natasha knew the look. She remembered the faint sparks of hope. She remembered stomping them out; refusing to let down let down her guard. She moved closer to the girl until she was only and arms length away. She reached out. The girl flinched and tried to move away from Natasha’s hand. “It’s okay.” Her hand moved up, careful not to touch the girl, until she was able to undo the gag.

The girl’s guard fell. Her eyes changed from fearful to pleading. “Is he okay? Is Stiles okay?” She whispered through a new wave of tears.

Natasha nodded. “He’s fine. He’s worried about you.”

The girl stared intently into Natasha’s eyes. “Does he know?”

Natasha smiled softly, chest burning, and nodded solemnly.

The girl choked on her tears. Her head fell back; eyes squeezed shut as she fought back sobs. Breathing heavily, she raised her head to look back at Natasha and give one firm nod. She muttered in a weak voice. “Can I see him?”

Natasha nodded. “We’re going to get you out of here, okay?”

“Okay.”

 

Natasha, being the brilliant, capable spy that she was, managed to stuff a large coat into her purse for Lydia to use. Once Natasha had undone the straps on the girl’s wrists and ankles and Lydia had donned the coat, Clint felt free to turn away from the wall and move further into the room. Lydia watched him with a wary gaze.

He smiled gently at her, but he couldn’t manage to find words to say to her. He hated himself for it.

“Okay.” Natasha disrupted the settling silence. “Clint is going to take you outside while I distract the guards.” The girl shifted uncomfortably. Natasha followed her gaze to Clint. “Unless you want me to take you outside.”

Lydia shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” She turned away from the girl and, facing Clint, headed to the door. “Give me a few minutes.” She slipped through the door in a flash. It clicked shut behind her. Clint stared blankly at the closed door, swallowing uncomfortably. He felt the girl step up next to him, a comfortable cushion of space between them.

“Thank you.” She whispered so faintly he almost missed it.

“I’m sorry about what they did to you.” Clint muttered in reply. They both fell silent as they waited.

It was a few minutes before Clint spoke. “That should be good.” He looked into the girl’s eyes for the first time. “You ready?” She nodded. “Good. Then let’s get out of here.” He’d barely opened the door and stepped into the hallway before something struck him in the back of the head. He fell to the floor with a grunt, sight blurry. He saw a pair of cowboy boots shuffle past him. There was a shrill scream followed by desperate pleas. Groaning, Clint struggled to push himself up. One of the boots connected with his temple, and he fell back to the floor, unconscious.

 

Clint started. The sudden jolt pulled at the straps around his wrists. His breathing quickened, eyes widening and hands shaking. He lay on his back on a springy mattress. He panicked, fighting against the straps desperately. His gut twisted as the door opened and Nick stepped in. He tried to yell but he was unable get the words past his constricted throat.

“Déjà vu, huh?” Nick, hands in his pockets, shuffled closer to the bed. “You know, Clint, I was oddly glad to see you. I’m not sure why, but I was. It was almost as if you hadn’t betrayed me. Of course, just because I was happy to see you didn’t mean I trusted you. I knew you were up to something. You always are, Barton. It frustrates me, honestly.” He was right beside the bed now.

“What have you done to them?” Clint managed a rough growl.

“You mean your two redheads?” Nick laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, Clint, how can I put this nicely? They’re in the same position you are, and I don’t mean that figuratively.”

Clint lunged for the man, but the restraints stopped his attempt. “Let them go, Nick. You’re fight is with me.”

Nick chuckled. “This isn’t a fight, Clint. You’ve already lost. This is just the result of what you did to me and what you’ve dragged them into. When you hear their screams, just know that you have yourself to blame.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few days are going to be sort of packed, so I probably won't be able to update until next week. Sorry, guys. Thank you so, so much for sticking with me!


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